Union: Kage & Meditation
by Mirialdo
Summary: considered complete as a Twopart fic About Tatsumi and Muraki, Violence and Yaoi Implied Pairings Implied: TatsxTsu, MuxTsu
1. Kage

_Kage_

* * *

  
Disclaimer: I don't own YnM, the lyrics or the stuff in the afterword, the seed of the plot was nicely planted by Shanti's X fic "Bright Shadow" 

Warnings: Slight OOC(?) 

==========================================================================  
**Shadow**: Hidden or unconscious aspects of oneself, both good and bad, which the ego has either repressed or never recognized.  
==========================================================================  


_ You were shiny as gold an' sweeter than honey,  
It looked to me like you were right on the money.  
I scratched the surface; I found the truth.  
You're made for hurtin'; that's what you do._  
"Pinmonkey, "Barbed Wire and Roses" "  


_ Bright flash--the mirror shatters  
Who's reflected in the broken glass?  
_ "Cats Laughing, "Black Knight's Work" "  


  
Lighting flashed briefly overhead, momentarily revealing two fingers beneath the overcast moonless sky. One light, one dark. One down on the ground, the other standing over the fallen figure, ignoring the rain beginning to fall around them, soaking into the clothes both wore and washing away some of the crimson color that ran down the fallen figure's arm. After the brief light had spent itself, and the rumble of thunder come and gone, a voice broke the silence that followed. 

"You can not kill me, Tatsumi-san.. you should realize this by now." 

"What do you mean by that? Just because there is no light, doesn't mean I'm harmless, Sensei." 

Lighting reflected briefly off two pairs of glasses, one hiding a pair of enraged blue eyes, the other pair laying a couple feet away, one of the lenses cracked in the silver frames. Muraki raised his voice slightly to be heard over the rain. "I am your shadow." The thunder chose then to make an appearance, underscoring the words neatly. The blue eyes narrowed sharply, the scowl under them deepening. 

"You are nothing." 

Muraki shifted his weight off his injured arm and tilted his head slightly, seeming to study the tall suited figure. Half-ignoring the denial, he spoke again. "You are half correct, I would be nothing without you, you are the reason I am here." He paused to turn away from the shinigami and pull himself to his feet, turning around slowly to look back at the vague dark outline of the shadowmaster, he continued in a more quiet tone. "You hated to see her cry, you hated even more that nothing you seemed to try could halt those tears.. but you eventually did halt them, ne? Quite possibly the same way, I 'cured' my own 'mother's' insanity. Of course, you don't like to think of that do you.. which would be the reason you left Tsuzuki-san alone..?" Eyes of silver gray and blue gray watched the dark form. "You were afraid history would repeat itself.." 

"Be silent. I don't want to hear your lies." 

Muraki moved slowly towards the other man, stopping just in front of the dark figure, barely able to make out the features hidden under the cover of darkness. "You dislike those who threw you and your mother out, ne? Those who caused her to cry in the first place, those who indirectly first placed her blood on your hands? That is why I do what I do.. revenge is a dish best served cold as it has been said." He stepped back as a hand struck the air where his head had been moments ago. "I am made of all those dark things you felt when you were alive and ruthlessly repressed when you became a shinigami. You shunned it so hard, so viciously that it became aware.. eventually to the state you see before you. I am separate from you, yet I am not. I can not die, because you are already deceased, so until you die as a shinigami, I must remain as I am." 

The was a crack of thunder then, and lighting struck blindingly close to both men, striking a maple and setting it aflame. Reddish gold light flickered over both of them, revealing the dark suited figure standing stiffly, hands clenched at his sides. The other figure a mirror contrast, the white kimono stained with blood and partially ripped at the shoulder, revealing a still slowly leaking wound in the arm beneath the fabric. For several moments, the silence was only broken by the sound of the tree burning, the wood giving off cracks and pops every couple minutes. 

"I don't believe you." 

Muraki didn't respond to the denial, and if anything this seemed to irritate the shinigami further. Without another word the other man stepped back towards one of the long shadows that the fire was throwing off and disappeared within it, those cold blue eyes never leaving Muraki until the shadowmaster was completely gone from his home, most likely returning to Meifu to calm and reassure himself that everything stated tonight was nothing but a pack of lies. Muraki sighed and moved to walk inside his house, lighting a candle with the lighter beside it to give him some light to find the bandages so that he could tend to his arm. 

As he finished tying off the bandage around his arm, he looked back out towards the burning tree, the reddish gold of the flames reflecting off the spare set of glasses he had put on. "Whether you believe or not, the truth can not be changed. We both had a chance to be our own person at one time.. and unfortunately we both lost them, but if you think I will content myself to remain as we are now.. you are most sorely wrong, Tatsumi Seiichirou. We will discuss this again in the future, that I promise you." 

==============  
Afterword  
==============  


_ It is a therapeutic necessity, indeed, the first requisite of any thorough psychological method, for consciousness to confront its shadow. In the end this must lead to some kind of union, even though the union consists at first in an open conflict, and often remains so for a long time. It is a struggle that cannot be abolished by rational means. When it is willfully repressed it continues in the unconscious and merely expresses itself indirectly and all the more dangerously, so no advantage is gained. The struggle goes on until the opponents run out of breath. What the outcome will be can never be seen in advance. The only certain thing is that both parties will be changed.["Rex and Regina," CW 14, par. 514.] _

This process of coming to terms with the Other in us is well worth while, because in this way we get to know aspects of our nature which we would not allow anybody else to show us and which we ourselves would never have admitted.[The Conjunction," ibid., par. 706.] 

Confrontation with the shadow produces at first a dead balance, a standstill that hampers moral decisions and makes convictions ineffective or even impossible. Everything becomes doubtful.[Ibid., par. 708.]  



	2. Meditation

_Meditation_

* * *

  
Disclaimer: I don't own YnM, the lyrics or the stuff in the afterword, the seed of the plot was nicely planted by Shanti's X fic "Bright Shadow" 

Warnings: Slight OOC(?) 

==================================================  
**Meditation.** A technique of focused introspection.  
==================================================  


_ Sometimes  
It's hard to hold on  
So hard to hold on to my dreams  
It isn't always what is seems  
When you're face to face with me  
_

I know I've been so hard to you  
I know I've told you lies  
If I could have just one more wish  
I'd wipe the cobwebs from my eyes  
"Ozzy Osborne & Lita Ford "Close My Eyes Forever" "   


Moonlight poured through the windows gracing the office the lone figure was standing in, the lights where out, the only illumination coming from the monitor of a single computer and the moonlight. The man moved away from the darker area of the room towards the computer and sat down, turning ice blue eyes to the figures on the screen. Columns and rows of numbers paraded across it in an orderly fashion; normally they were a welcome distraction. Not tonight, tonight the silence that was normally a blessing; was more a curse. The lack of distractions also something to usually be craved for, was proving to be just as much a curse as the silence was. 

_ "You hated to see her cry, you hated even more that nothing you seemed to try could halt those tears; but you eventually did halt them, ne? Quite possibly the same way, I 'cured' my own 'mother's' insanity. Of course, you don't like to think of that do you, which would be the reason you left Tsuzuki-san alone..?" _

"You were afraid history would repeat itself.." 

Lips curled slightly in a silent snarl, he pushed himself away from the desk to stalk towards the window. Those damned words wouldn't leave him alone. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared silently out the window. _' He doesn't know me as well as he claims if he thinks I could ever hurt...Tsuzuki. ' _

Turning away from the window, he moved back towards the desk. The work wouldn't do itself, he knew what was the truth was; he shouldn't allow Muraki's words to upset him like they had, especially since he had most likely designed them to do that very thing. If he actually allowed them any further under his skin, the bastard would win. 

Nodding once to himself, he unfolded his arms and sat back down, turning his attention back to the figures on the screen, picking a nearby pen up at the same time. It wasn't until he felt something snap and felt a wetness run over his fingers and wrist that he realized that he hadn't calmed down as much as he had thought. Giving a disgusted glare at the two pieces of the pen in his hand, he tossed them into the trashcan beside the desk and stood up to head towards the restroom. 

He walked into the lit room, moving to stand in front of one of the sinks. Looking down at his hand, he froze, eyes widening faintly. Carmine liquid covered his hand and wrist, staining the edge of his dress shirt a pinkish color. 

_ A knife made a dull thud against the woven mat lying on the floor. The tide of blood grew, spreading out towards him as if reaching for the one who had freed it from its prison. He stepped back, wide blue eyes watching the crimson stain the brown mat a deep rust color beneath the small form that laid sprawled on top of it. He felt something wet drip onto his bare feet and looked down to see the same carmine color staining his own hand. He hadn't wanted to do it; he loved her after all. But she wouldn't stop, no matter what he did; nothing halted those cursed tears. _

Snapping himself out of the memory, he turned on the water with his clean hand, rising what ink would come off in the hot water before picking up the soap and scrubbing at it silently until the last trace of red was gone from his skin. Giving himself a brief glance in the mirror, Tatsumi turned away and left the bright room for the relative comfort and safety of the darkness in the office. 

Sitting back down again, he briefly turned on a lamp to make sure the ink hadn't stained any of the papers he had been working on. Assured of their safety, he turned the light back out and returned his attention back to the work on the monitor. 

_ "I am made of all those dark things you felt when you were alive and ruthlessly repressed when you became a shinigami. You shunned it so hard, so viciously that it became aware, eventually to the state you see before you. I am separate from you, yet I am not. I can not die, because you are already deceased, so until you die as a shinigami, I must remain as I am." _

He sat back, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose silently for a moment, clearing his mind of the words that had thrust themselves into his mind again. Replacing the glasses, he raked a hand through his hair and glanced over at his work. At least he had made some headway into it before he had been distracted. _' I'll prove you wrong; just wait. You are nothing but an insane killer and I will show you that you can be destroyed just as simply as you destroyed the others you have touched. '_

==============  
Afterword  
==============  


_ Jung distinguished between meditation practiced in the East or in traditional Western religious exercises, and its use as a tool for self-understanding, particularly in the realization of projections. _

If the ancient art of meditation is practiced at all today, it is practiced only in religious or philosophical circles, where a theme is subjectively chosen by the meditant or prescribed by an instructor, as in the Ignatian Exercitia or in certain theosophical exercises that developed under Indian influence. These methods are of value only for increasing concentration and consolidating consciousness, but have no significance as regards affecting a synthesis of the personality. On the contrary, their purpose is to shield consciousness from the unconscious and to suppress it. [The Conjunction," CW 14, par. 708.] 

When meditation is concerned with the objective products of the unconscious that reach consciousness spontaneously, it unites the conscious with contents that proceed not from a conscious causal chain but from an essentially unconscious process... Part of the unconscious contents is projected, but the projection as such is not recognized. Meditation or critical introspection and objective investigation of the object are needed in order to establish the existence of projections. If the individual is to take stock of himself it is essential that his projections should be recognized, because they falsify the nature of the object and besides this contain items which belong to his own personality and should be integrated with it. [Ibid., par. 710.]  



End file.
